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Thoughts on wine-making and terroir, following a tour and tasting at Pyramid Valley.

Apr 24th, 2013
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There is an untold truth in wine, that for exceptional wine to be made, man or woman must first enter into an agreement with the vines. There is no dark magic or religious power at play, just as there is no need for slight of hand or mathematical tomfoolery, which it has been asserted can make 2+2=5. The vines must be planted on soils that force them to work, just as the aspect or incline of the site will force the winemaker to work too. This is the agreement – we shall both work hard and the results will be better than if we hadn’t. The outcome is often called terroir.

The basis for this symbiotic relationship is thus the soil; the bedrock on which the foundations of the agreement stand. Therefore, if scouring the earth to find the right limestone-clay combination is required, then scour one must. If the right site is far from civilisation, on an incline prohibitive to mechanisation, and where the vines must be grown low and pruned hard to de-vigour, then so be it.

Both man or woman and vine must make sacrifices. The vine must be clipped to force its mother root down into the hardened rock in search of water and minerals, and must be grown in high density to force competition. The grower will play his or her part and accept both increased toil in the field and the reality of a certain economic gamble from diminished yields per vine, necessary for maximum concentration.

Before its work is done, the vine will provide for with one last gift; the yeast that is required for the fermentation of its bounty, thus securing the continuation of the agreement. The flame will be passed from the grower to the winemaker in the knowledge of this fact, and as a result the agreement will continue into vinification.

Vintages will vary, but this will just grow the relationship and enforce the agreement. The vines will provide as best they can, and the winemaker will work with what he or she has been given, learning from the process, and reinvesting the intellectual results back into the vineyard. People will come to enjoy the variation and how it keeps them on their toes, as they discover new flavours, aromas and sensations they hadn’t expected to encounter.

For his or her part in the deal, the winemaker will agree to treat the grapes as naturally as possible, refraining from fashionable, overt processing with new “flavour of the month” techniques. Grapes will be crushed by foot, and intracellular fermentation will occur naturally as a result, and oxidation, if it occurs, will be accepted and not despised as a thing of the devil.

Additives such as DAP and powdered tannins, and the practices of acidification and chaptilisation will be avoided, as too will the overuse of sulphur dioxide. Courage for this brave act will be gained through the knowledge that the grower and the vine have already worked hard in the field to provide all that is required.

People will claim this as hands off wine-making, but the last laugh will be on them in the knowledge that, through hand weeding, picking, selecting and de-stemming, the number of hands that have played a part in this wine is uncharacteristically high.

Having built its bones from the limestone, and its blood from the clay, the wine will not be stripped of its soul by fining or filtering, and will be allowed to grow older and wiser in vessels of maturation as befitting its character; old barrels for the gentle caress of oak and softening oxygenation, and clay amphorae for acetaldehyde development.

Instinct and gut feeling will be encouraged and nurtured, as too will experimentation wherever possible; one must not live in fear of difference or exception to the rule, as this is the charm of wine. In this respect, uncommon varietals must be welcomed, as too must the treatment of common ones with different and uncommon practices.

The results will at the same time, be fine, complex, and sophisticated – rustic, raucous and lively, showing depth, concentration and yet fragility at once. And as a final proof of  the agreement and its worth, grapes from neighbouring sites, grown with identical care and vinified in a consistent manner will show variation and individuality that, after searching long and hard for the correct descriptor, people will announce as the proof of terroir.

by J J Shearlock

Posted in: general.

Julicher – The Winery that Wim Built

Apr 12th, 2013
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With the taste of Pinot still lingering on my palate from the recent Pinot NZ 2013 Festival, it seemed fitting that on my driving wine tour of New Zealand, I should find myself rolling happily towards Martinborough, one of the districts firmly staking a claim to the title of New Zealand’s foremost Pinot region.

Having got married at Coney Wines in Martinborough back in 2010, I have always felt at home here, but an hour after arriving at Julicher Estate, I felt even more at home; this would prove to be my first tasting in the living room of the owner’s cottage, complete with cat curled up and sun bathing on the sofa.

Welcome to the winery that Wim built (and as a builder by trade he really did). As the story goes, there was nothing on the site until the Dutch Wim Julicher arrived fifteen years ago and planted olives. Scuppered by one bitter, fatal winter, Wim showed a canny entrepreneurial-ism, and in a master stroke, planted vines. That was back in 1998, with the first vintage being harvested and vinified in 2001 by a local independent winemaker. Then, in 2005, Outi, a Finish winemaker arrived on the scene; in 2007 Julicher Estate Pinot Noir won the Champion Wine of the Show at the NZ International Wine Competition. The rest is history.

I’m greeted by Sue, Wim’s partner and the marketing side of the operation, and quickly the subject turns to Pinot NZ 2013, and we both ponder about its prohibitive cost in the face of no guaranteed reward – and its high-end approach to the promotion of a wine that should arguably speak for itself. That said, she is hoping that a meeting with a Dutch wine writer and rep, may help push sales in Holland, hopefully to match those of Finland, which is intriguingly one of their biggest markets.

When Wim arrives, the conversation melts into an informal amble through all that is wine. A personable chap with a very down to earth attitude, his approach to wine is straightforward and refreshingly unpretentious – an ethos summed up by his statement that a good wine is, “One that you want a second glass of”. He asks if I would like to taste some – which I certainly would, and soon the wine is doing the talking.

The first is a 2010 Pinot Gris harvested from Edwards vineyard down the road, and which has a lovely, leesy weight and dryness uncommon in the varietal. There’s no overbearing pear-drop quality on this elegant specimen, just lean acidity and solid honeyed, white fruit.

This is followed by the 2011 Chardonnay, again a perfect example of understatement. The oak is integrated and unimposing, and like the Pinot Gris, has only had partial malolactic, and therefore possesses no overt cloying butter, but rather a toasty crispness, again structured around a sumptuous taught acidity.

With all these gentle, sophisticated wines, conversation turns to kiwi Sauvignon Blanc and the future of Marlborough, of which there has been much talk in the press of late. Wim confesses that his 2011 Sauvignon Blanc (made from local grapes) was a beautiful, easy drinking example of the varietal, without the fruit-punch blast of many a Marlborough, and we both agree that perhaps a niche is opening up as part of the fall from grace that every mega-popular wine style inevitably experiences. He tells me he is currently working on a barrel fermented version, with partial malo, which sounds intriguing, and if his other whites are anything to go by, will be one to track down in future.

We move onto the Pinots, sourced from the kitchen having been opened the night before, and I get another chance to taste the 99 Rows against the flagship Pinot as I did at Pinot NZ 2013. Wim tells me that the 99 Rows outsells the other by 3 to 1 and that many claim it as their favourite, but chuckles at the fact that it is ten dollars cheaper, and that this inevitably plays a part in the stats. The 99 Rows is indeed soft and alluring, and immediately divulges its inner secrets with a charming naivety, whilst the flagship is deeper, darker and broodier and takes longer to get to know. Earthier, spicier and with a a fraction more acidity, it is closer to Burgundy in many ways, taking longer to open up, but still with that tell tale new world fruit. I ask if there have been thoughts of holding it back in bottle before release, but the price would have to rise and cash flow would be impeded; even in Martinborough there is a constant balance between supply and demand, cost and revenue.

For a small winery there is a lot to juggle, and it’s rarely a straightforward story of simply making and selling wine. Wim states that he eventually envisages passing things into the hands of someone else. But, having just built a new cottage next to the winery, he confesses (with a sparkle in his eye) that he wouldn’t be able to completely let go, and for “the odd bottle of wine”, would happily continue to perform some supervisory duties.

I realise I have taken up Sue and Wim’s time for over an hour and a half (time flies when you’re drinking and discussing good wine) and so thank them both and make to leave. Wim asks if I would like to take a bottle, but my coy English sense of manners causes me to decline. Luckily he can see I am conflicted and pushes the flagship 2010 Pinot into my hands with a wry smile.

Moments later I am sitting in Martinborough square, sipping happily with my wife, from glasses sourced from our van as the sun beats down on us. The square forms the central point to a road layout which mimics the Union Jack, and my thoughts turn to Blightie, then Finland and Holland, and the countless other happy people for whom a glass of Julicher Pinot is bringing a little drop of sunshine.

Julicher’s distributor in the UK is The City Beverage Company.

JJ Shearlock

Posted in: tastings.

Pinot Noir NZ 2013

Feb 10th, 2013
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Click here to read my thoughts on the Public Tasting at Pinot Noir NZ 2013 on the Harpers Industry Blog site.

Posted in: pinot, tastings.

Why rockers want to be winemakers…..

Jan 26th, 2013
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Click here for my latest article published on the Harpers Industry Blog site

Posted in: general.

NZ vs The Rest of the World (tasting)

Dec 12th, 2012
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So it is with ten bottles of wine wrapped in silver foil, and more befitting a scene from the Soyuz space hotel than the terrestrial confines of SE22, that we begin the tasting.

The wines are a spread from four countries, that sees NZ take on the rest of the world (or at least some of the world), in five varietal flights of two wines. Some of them threaten to be stratospheric and the silver foil will serve not just as blinkers to our blind tasters, but as a heat shield as the wines re-enter the atmosphere and begin their descent down out gullets.

Surveying the room, I witness keen studying of the notes that may be the key to guessing the provenance of the wines, and realise that people are taking proceeding seriously, there being after all three kiwis in the room, and some national pride at stake. A quick explanation of the rules becomes a lengthy almost algebraic ramble as we try and find an elegant solution to the problem of remembering which wine is which, but as the conundrum is finally cracked, the first wine is poured and the sipping, slurping and sniffing begins.

Riesling is the first flight, with Waipara confronting Eden Valley in a trans-Tasman contest like so many rugby encounters before. But these two are elegant and bright and it is an encounter more befitting a game of chess. The first is ripe and fruity with a hint of residual sugar and some marmalade notes that take us into the realms of botrytis, whilst the second is leaner, crisper and zestier. The first has the opulence of a warm climate, whilst the latter, the austerity typical of cooler climes, which would surely point towards Oz and NZ respectively, but is this a red herring? The kiwis are a confident bunch and are not fooled, and soon the room is convinced that the first hails from NZ. People jot down their scores and stake their claim, and the wines are revealed. In deed the first is the Pegasus Bay and a quick tally of the scores marks it as the winner too! One nil to NZ.

Next up Sauvignon blanc – Martinborough vs the Aconcagua valley in Chile. This seems on paper like it could be a close contest; both latitudinally comparable with high sun hours, good diurnal variation and a maritime influence. But the wines could not be more different and the Pacific fetch that separates their terroir, seems symbolic of this. The first is big, exotic and tropical, with hints of asparagus and cut grass, whilst the second is more refined, with clearly delineated gooseberry and a mineral backbone. The kiwis are momentarily flummoxed, the first wine exhibiting the passion fruit punch that many a kiwi Sav has been known to rock, but the latter showing the ripe fruit, minerality and class that has made Martinborough the world class wine destination it is today? The wines are revealed and it is of course the class act that hails from NZ, outscoring its Chilean counterpart handsomely too. Two nil to NZ.

A palate cleansing biscuit or two provides a momentary pause for thought as we segue onto the reds and the ante is upped. There is a tangible excitement in the room and as pouring begins, aromas of red fruits fill the room.

The first flight is Pinot Noir, Waipara vs Burgundy, the new world finally confronting it’s nemesis – the old world. The first wine is big and fruity, a strawberry, raspberry and red cherry coulis, that slides down with little effort whilst the second is softer on the palate but spicier on the nose. This is an easy one and everyone deciphers which one is the kiwi, the riper fruits and higher alcohol being a clear giveaway. Once again Jess, our resident calculatrice does the Maths and once again the winner is NZ! I begin to ponder about a possible bias at this stage, but then these kiwi wines pander so teasingly to the modern palate. Clean fruity and complex without being overbearing, they are just so moreish.

Next up, kiwi Syrah versus the mighty Oz Shiraz. Our kiwi hails from the little known Waiheke Island, thirty minutes by boat from Auckland, and its counterpart from the infamous McClaren Vale. This seems like a David vs Goliath story but as our glasses are filled, noses immediately begin twitching, alerted to aromas as of yet not encountered, and it becomes apparent that these are both giants. The first is a big medicinal, balsamic number crying  menthol eucalyptus, that has Niall scribing “minty hospital”, whilst the second is a veritable fruit bomb, that explodes in the mouth. They are both muscular, but the complexity of the first keeps us coming back for more – flavours evolving and revealing themselves as the wine traverses the palate. Conversely, the second wine has shown us all it can, and it’s fair to say it’s relatively one dimensional. There is little contest and the Australian beast is easily slain by Waihetian warrior.

At four nil, and with One flight to go, the game is up – but can NZ make it a clean sweep? Two Bordeaux blends from Waiheke again and the Yarra valley in Australia, should make for an interesting contest, but I start to ponder whether this really should have been Bordeaux itself taking on New Zealand. And yet, neither of these wines is old, and with Bordeaux at the same price really needing bottle age, this is in many ways, a fairer fight. A simple sniff of the first wine and it’s obvious we’re in the same terroir as the Waihetian Syrah, not just fruit but cloves, spice and gun-flint, struck match and earth. So we’ve sussed the kiwi, but which one is better! The second wine is again a mouthful of black fruit and grippy tannins that cling to the teeth, and everyone agrees that, without comparison this is very decent drop. Yet next to the Waihetian, it simply can’t compete for depth or complexity. Nz has taken on the world and won!

And so it is wiser, drunker and with black stained teeth that we put down our trusty tasting glasses. As we reflect on a well fought battle, not just by the wines, but by us intrepid, fearless tasters too, there is a sudden realisation that many an opened bottle sits before us. We raise our glasses once again but this time it is to drink and not to taste as we head for our favourite tipples, a well-deserved reward for all our hard work!

by JJ Shearlock

Posted in: tastings, Uncategorized.

Capote y Toros – Ham and Sherry Bar

Oct 26th, 2012
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In 1587 Francis Drake sacked Cadiz and returned to Blightie with, amongst other spoils, 2,900 barrels of Sherry. Britain’s love affair with Sherry was launched, but it hasn’t all been plain sailing. Plagued with an image problem, Sherry has for many years been left off the list. But now it is fashionable once again, and finally getting the recognition it deserves as an estimable companion to food.

And nowhere is this better expressed than at Capote y Toros, part of the Cambio De Tercio chain and located at what the owner, Abel Lusa, has rapidly turned into the Iberian end of the typically Gallic Old Brompton Road.

Boasting over 100 different Sherries, this competes for London’s broadest range, and during a whirlwind hour, Eric, the resident master of all things Jerez, whisks me through a guided selection of their finest. It is a Sherry master class and a tour de force in food matching, with a dish for every expression, be it the oxidised caramels and figs of Oloroso or the nutty, zesty, flors of Fino.

Two glasses are brought to the table and immediately yeasty flor aromas fill the air, mingling with the tang of cured ham being carved off a leg only metres away. My nose has convinced me I’m in Spain, and in my excitement, I start on the darker Fino Perdido despite Eric’s advice. Amber in colour it boasts a nose of delicate, nutty, savoury complexity that has me thinking of old oaked Chardonnay or a Vin Jaune in full pomp.

This is their own barrelling and has had some deliberate oxidation, nudging it gently into the realms of a Passada or an Amontillado. Bone dry on the palate, any fruit that once was has now receded, like a still life by an old master perhaps, faded and aged yet curiously charming. Caramels and hints of vanilla are all that remain, and the warm alcohol balances any tartness.

The Manzanilla Papirusa by Bodegas Emilio Lustau is aged three years, and is less expressive on the nose, but with the same delicate nuts and flor aromas, and with hints of citrus, lime and exotic fruits too.

The palate is elegant and finer than the first, with the further ageing under flor having stripped the glycerol, making for a leaner mouth feel. Yet, in recompense, the hard working yeast has repaid the Sherry with the autolytic qualities of anaerobic, biological aging – nuts and leesy complexity.

The roasted almonds and olives that have helped the Sherry’s voyage over the palate are cleared from the table, and two more Sherries arrive, this time accompanied by some finely sliced foie gras, a hint that the residual sugar is going to increase, and that we are moving out of Fino territory.

The first is a mahogany Amontillado Contrabandista from Bodegas Valdespino, boasting a ripe nose of caramel and confected dried fruits. Hints of cloves, oak, and figs and prunes wrapped in sweet spice has the mind fumbling for past whisky bottles, and the warm recollections of Sherry finished single malts.

The palate is rich and full with more acid than expected which gently balances the sugar. This is a big mouthful, crying out for the foie gras sat seductively by the glass, and which on first taste seems to dissolve in the mouth like butter in a frying pan. Sucking the sugar from the Sherry, it lightens the load, leaving only the elegance of dried fruits and muted caramels.The wine and food are indeed a happy marriage, but the second glass, I am afraid, must come between them, and the two Sherries must vie for the ultimate affections of the foie gras.

Another Amontillado, the Classic from Bodegas Fernando de Castilla is a similar tawny colour, but the nose is older, subdued and with less obvious caramel than its predecessor, and I am initially disappointed. Yet, dipping in again, I realise that this is the older, wiser and more sophisticated courtier, seductive through it’s conversation and intellect, this Amontillado doesn’t drive a Ferrari. Herbaceous notes and medicinal hints drift into contention and its hidden complexity begins to unravel.

Taking a sip, the conversation continues, as a massive explosion of nuts and dried raisin and figs bursts over the palate. The finish is immense with seismic wave after wave of flor and caramel rolling rumbling through the palate. The foie gras is smitten and the two tumble hand in hand around my palate in happy abandon.

A hard combo to match, but the Emperatiz Eugenia by Bodegas Emilio Lustau and a plate of twenty four month aged Jabugo ham step up to the mark undaunted.

The Sherry is a 20 year old Oloroso, and after all the punchy flor aromas I must re-calibrate the olfactory apparatus to adjust for the clean purity that is the perfect expression of restraint. A solo flute perhaps that gives way to the rest of the orchestra that the taste buds must conduct as I take a sip.

The higher alcohol and glycerol is the tympani that holds the rhythm, the nuts and dried fruit the brass and wind sections, and the spicy cloves, anise and fragrant perfumes the individual instruments of the string section. As an Oloroso, this is only aged aerobically and yet the acetaldehydes of oxidation are not a million miles from those generated by flor. I express this opinion to Eric who agrees but explains, with a gesture to the back of his mouth, that oxidation only gets you so far, and the next Sherry will demonstrate this.

Bringing it to my table he qualifies it as no less than Spain’s best wine, a Palo Cortado, that rarest of Sherries that starts in one style and coverts to another, an enigma, the spontaneous combustion or immaculate conception of the Sherry world.

La Bota Nº 21 from Bodegas Equipos Navazos is the mother of all Sherries, seemingly rolling the finer qualities of all the previous expressions into one single package, and is demanding of a dish as equally exceptional. This would prove tricky for many, but not here. Pork loins with Oloroso sauce and Chorizo purée anybody? Tender and savoury with a light spicy Chorizo kick from the purée and a sweet kiss from the Oloroso. Faultless on its own, but perfection with the Sherry.

As I sit contentedly, mesmerised, a man starts to play classical guitar and a waiter gently tells a small child that she should ditch her knife and fork and opt for her fingers. At this point I forget about professionalism, and simply bask in the cornucopia of flavours that regale my taste bud, as the ambiance slides into one of total comfort.

 

Written by John shearlock

Posted in: sherry.

Vina Croatia Tasting

Sep 13th, 2012
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It is with a quick glance at the tasting booklet that I realise the Vina Croatia tasting is not going to be a stroll in the park. A multitude of unpronounceable grape varieties twist my tongue, whilst the map of Croatia and its plethora of tiny islands that cascade chaotically into the Adriatic, appears as a complex jigsaw, as yet unfinished. Thus, the master class by the effusive Jo Wadsack is a welcome starting point, and with his infectious enthusiasm for the wines, soon, the sense of adventure that burns in all us wine lovers is truly kindled.

We are quickly introduced to some of the main varietal and regional players. Two whites, Malvasia Istriana, the ancestral mother of all Malvasia, and Posip from Istria and Dalmatia respectively, and two black grapes, Teran and Plavac Mali, a close relation of Crljenak, believed to be the ancestral Zinfandel. The latter are the wild beasts of Croatian wine, high in alcohol and tannin, tamed only by the heavy hand of new oak. Often grown in tiny yields on the natural solar panels of the steep, stony, island slopes, they can be massively concentrated, and with similarities to Zin, they have become fashionable in the US. However, it is not all about extraction and oak, and the Grimalda Noir by Matošević demonstrates this. A Merlot / Teran blend, it is one of the stars of the master-class, and in deed the day, showing plums and mulberry, seasoned with spice and pepper reminiscent of a Syrah.

Two Malvasias provide a liquid expression of the complexity of Croatian terroir. One grown on iron rich terra rosa and the other on white chalk based soils, they are an intriguing contrast. Both beautifully balanced with decent acidity and solid fruit (tinned peach, lemon and mandarin), but with a greater fullness afforded by the heat and light reflecting terra rosa, and more finesses from the chalk.

With plenty to discuss, the master-class spills over the allocated time, but it is happily primed and better equipped with a knowledge of Croatian wine, that we spill energised into the tasting hall, now ready to tackle the twenty tables that await us.

There is what seems like a sea of Malvasia, ranging from stainless steel nurtured, fruit forward quaffers, to the more sophisticated oaked examples. French and Slavonian oak are the mainstay, but surprisingly Acacia is used too, enhancing the Acacia blossom qualities of Malvasia and imbuing notes of honey. The Alba Antiqua from Matošević blends the two, and proves a beautifully expressive, mineral drop, the wood seamlessly integrated. The regional diversity of Croatia makes for interesting Malvasia comparisons whilst circumnavigating the tasting floor, however, the islands of Muscat, Sauvignon blanc, Chardonnay and Traminac (Gewürztraminer), provide welcome ports in which to berth and regroup the taste buds.

The Traminac by Iluki Podrumi is delightful, or should that be Turkish Delightful. Quince, Mango and Lychees are spread over the tongue by the cutting edge of keen acidity, and balances the 15% alcohol effortlessly. The Roxanich Milva Chardonnay is also a revelation, naturally made and neither fined nor filtered, it is an immensely textural mouthful. Its three years in French oak see it begin in 70hl vats, and finish in 37hl barrels, concentrating flavours of sweet spice and caramelised nuts and fruit.

The final table brings us to the island of Hvar and a winery called Zlatan Otok, and is the perfect antidote to the palate fade that inevitably ensues on these occasions. I have been told I must ask for the Crljenak, but dare not to attempt the Croatian pronunciation, opting to use Zinfandel instead. The wine is a colossus, more titanic than tannic, and one feels like it could age an eternity and still hold its own. The two Plavac Malis are much in the same vein, and as mere youngsters (2008), the Barrique is more approachable than the Grand Cru, and by far the most enjoyable. Given time, and an accompanying plate of something suitably proteinaceous, these wines will be superb.

And this is very much a constant theme that crops up whilst tasting the wine. By nature they are food wines, big, robust and muscular in many cases, suited more to the on trade than off, and yet the region is a conundrum. Prices are not high, but talking to some of the trade that attended, the wines are not especially cheap either. Many of the finer sites are hard to work and thus overheads are high and mechanisation impossible, and so prices, for a region that is little known, may seem prohibitive. And that is why these events are so important, educating people as to the natural beauty of Croatia and displaying the quality of wine that is available. Wine making in Croatia spans centuries, but the industry was decimated and reborn after the war of independence in the early nineties, and so many of these wines are from young stock. The Grimalda, for example, is from vines planted in 2004 and so the potential is obvious.

Taste the Place is the Tourism Croatia slogan, and leaving the event, I certainly felt I had. Many of these wines are big and will not be to everyone’s taste, but they are distinctive and have character in abundance. Given another ten years, Croatia will be an exciting destination and a go to choice on any wine list.

Written by John Shearlock

Posted in: tastings.

Roberson Wine – Annual Portfolio Tasting

Jun 22nd, 2012
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“…..I thus drew steadily nearer to the truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two.”
- Robert Louis Stevenson, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Welcome to the sophisticated, daring and different portfolio that is the Roberson wine list. A selection of wines that travel from traditional, conservative elegance, to audacious, cheeky vinous anarchism and back again, and which brought to the surface an inner conflict that I shall confront in writing this piece.

The opening preamble is a cool climate master class, a driving tour de force (or should that be France) that sees us zig zag from La Loire to Alsace, back over the Maginot line to Chablis before hitting the big guns of Burgundy.  An exquisite Pouilly Fume from Mr Dagueneau, showing massive concentration and lovely length and body, and some playful off dry Alsatians from the noble stables. All fruit and candy – they left me wanting more acidity, which is exactly what I got from Chablis, in abundance. I try the Gerard Tremblay Vaudesir and the Daniel-Etienne Defaix from Grenouille, both Grand Crus – both citrus and green apple hidden under piles of flinty stone. Lovely, but could there be more fruit I question myself contentiously, and this is the moment where it happens – the seeds of doubt are sown, and the schizoid conflict begins.

I move quickly onto the Chavey Chouet list, which flits effortlessly from Meursault to Puligny to Chassagne – an impressive line-up if ever there was. All mineral, nuts and high acidic, steely elegance, poised on a knife edge that slices through the palate defiantly, and yet somehow I do not feel sated (what is wrong with me?).

Moving to table six, the selection becomes intriguing, and following the segué of refreshing rosés courtesy of Chateau Minuty, the reds appear. Before I move to the tannic stuff though, I spot a recent acquaintance whom I met at a previous Roberson tasting, the Domaine de l’Escarpolette Blanc. Geographically we’re no more than 200 miles from Burgundy yet the wines are worlds apart. The ominous, unfined, cloudy liquid is like a potion, and as it slides down, the Mr Hyde within me is fully awakened. This is what I’ve been looking for, a truly challenging mouthful of pithy grapefruit and perfume – my jaded taste buds spasm to life as it traverses the palate. I notice her table companions, Mas Des Dames, Coutelou and Le Temps Des Cerises, it’s like the rowdy table at a traditional wedding, refusing to blend in, ruffling a few feathers. Glorious anti-establishment stuff!

The Corelium by Terra de Verema from Priorat is my first red (start as you mean to continue I always say), a wine oozing complexity. Punchy primary black fruits wrapped in secondary and tertiary flavours. I drop in on a few Burgundies but Mr Hyde is craving something different, and after the fragrant red cherries of Jean Paul Thevenet’s Vielles Vignes, I settle contentedly in Domaine de Mourchon, where the Grenache and Syrahs start big and just get bigger. The Family Reserve Grenache is like a Chateauneuf, opulent, alcoholic and fruity.

I meet Matteo, one of the Roberson crew who is manning a stand. I confess that the natural wines have awoken something within me, and that dare I say it, some of the big boys have not quite pushed my buttons. I feel that he can sense my inner turmoil, and pointing to some pink labelled magnums, he offers the antidote.

Payre Rose is a revelation to me. Complexity, concentration and such elegance and purity. Silky on the palate, with exceptional body and wonderful length. These are released after considerable bottle ageing, and as a result the tannin and oak are softened and integrated, harmonious and balanced. There are two magnums of the ’98 Clos Des Cistes and the ’92 Syrah Leone. Both are beautifully expressive, soft but still showing good tannins and the receding fruit is more than compensated for by the tertiary flavours, whilst the garigue notes still trill away above the underlying black fruit melodies.

Tasting is hard after this barnstormer. The Ouest by Mas Coutelou, which I absolutely adore, seems a touch thin and lacking, and yet the Peyre Rose has seemingly restored in me the appreciation of subtlety and finesse. I taste a few top flight Bordeaux (the ’04 Rauzan-Segla the pick of the bunch) and a Brunello by Altesino which doesn’t disappoint, but my sights are now firmly set on something altogether different. I rush through a few wines deserving of more respect and then head to the opposite end of the room – my mouth already salivating.

Here, on a table of their own sit three bottles of golden ambrosia. Light streaming through them glints enticingly, ethereally even – the scene just needs a few trumpet playing cherubs and would then be complete.

It is of course Chateau d’Yquem, the three wines spanning ’76 to ’98 with an ’87 in the middle, and which for me is the standout wine of an outstanding triplet. Massively concentrated, the sugars having polymerised into complex chains, showing flavours of sherbet and limes, reminiscent of a Riesling TBA, along with the classic marmalade and apricots all noble and rotten. The ’76 is slightly tainted, I am informed, and as a result the fruit has faded slightly, but it is from such high levels and the concentration is still so massive, that it would take a brave man to call it. The ’98 is obviously younger but by no means lesser. Refreshing acidity from a higher percentage of Sauvignon Blanc in the blend underpins it’s lively, edgy zestiness, and from the throng of people around the table, many claim it as the best of the lot. At one point we are asked to stand aside for a gent wishing to take photos, and that sort of sums the wines up really.

And so it is with a resolved constitution that I finally put down my trusty tasting glass. Mr Hyde has been sated, for the time being, and it is Dr Jekyll who walks away a contented and wiser man, having learnt a thing or two on the way.

In many respects, by definition, exceptional wines become the norm when tasted in repetition, and it is at these points that the inherent differences of, say, a natural wine, can become truly exceptional and even exciting. Once again it is diversity in wine that should be applauded and the Roberson portfolio certainly has this in spades.

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Roberson Wine – Organic, Biodynamic and Natural Wine Tasting

Apr 21st, 2012
by admin.
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My experiences with natural wine have been few and far between. A brief yet memorable encounter with Marcel Lapierre’s Morgon in Antic Wine in Lyon in 2002 (I don’t remember much else that year), and more recently a few introductions to some of the players at the restaurant Terroirs in London, which specialises in that field. But with all the press that natural wine has been getting in recent years, It was with especial interest that I turned up to Roberson’s Organic, Biodynamic and Natural Wine tasting. Would I encounter the “faulty” wines that have so shocked the purists, or the expression of wine as mother nature intended?

I suppose the answer is a bit of both. There was certainly some heavy reduction on the nose in a fair few of the wines, the irony of which was not lost on me. The catch goes thus, one avoids using So2 in the wine making process but therefore has to avoid oxidation wherever possible, the resultant wines therefore become reduced and smell of sulphur. However, there were also some beautifully characterful wines showing great typicity, and some unique wines too.

Here’s my précis of the, unfortunately, diminutive selection that time allowed me. The Chardonnay from Ganevat in the Jura stood out amongst the whites, with beautiful earthy oxidised qualities reminiscent of Arbois, yet still crying Chardonnay. As did the Blanc from Domaine de l’Escarpolette; herbaceous stone fruit, spice and perfume – Macabeo and Muscat masquerading as Gewürztraminer.

The Italy section was interesting to say the least. A pink Pinot Grigio reminiscent of Pinot Noir that would have kept many an MW guessing in a blind tasting and the Nero d’Avola Frappato blend from Occhipinti, affectionately named after the SP68 motorway that runs near to her vineyards, and which was that rare combination of delicacy and rusticity; lively acidity and earthy red berries allowed to perform without any heavy oak or alcoholic overtones. At the other end of the spectrum was the Munjabel from Cornelissen, which had broken free from the natural wine stables and was certainly running wild. A massive mouth of yeasty red fruit, bubblegum and prickly pettillance with a finish reminiscent of cheese, extraordinary.

Languedoc stood out too, and made me wonder if this is perhaps a region that lends itself openly to natural wines. The warm Mediterranean climate and aromatic grapes of higher alcoholic potential (Grenache, Mourvedre, Carrignan etc.) affording more protection for the wine? The Rouge from l’Escarpollette was magnificent. Broody black fruits and gamey guarrigue, beautiful body and silky tannins that polished the teeth.

So at the end of the day, where do I stand in the natural wine argument? I am all for organic and biodynamic farming, it’s better for the planet and it’s better for our bodies when we ingest the results. I’d also be keen on the removal of inorganic techniques used for fining, but am not so sure that So2 and oak (especially oak) are additives we need worry about. Let’s not throw the baby out with the bath water.

When I drank Lapierre all those years ago I thought it was stunning wine, but I didn’t drink it because it was naturally made, and to he honest, I don’t think one should drink wine on any proviso other than that it will hopefully be a good, interesting wine! Strictly speaking, wine is not a natural state, it’s a mid point on the descent into vinegar, and therefore keeping it in its wine state is in many ways unnatural. To reach and maintain this state, winemakers use technology and science, and although natural wine makers may apply chemical science less, letting mother nature do her thing, it’s fair to say there’s still a vast application of technology. We therefore have a “spectrum of natural” with the likes of, say, Domaine de l’ Escarpolette at one end and perhaps Mondavi at the other. As long as they create decent interesting wines that abide to health regulations, then long may their differences be encouraged.

JJS

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Winds of Change

Apr 11th, 2012
by admin.
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It is dusk on the Côte Brune in the Rhone valley. A stiff, cool breeze is  whistling briskly through the vineyards causing quite a  drop in temperatures, but no one is complaining – least of all the Syrah. The breeze goes by the name of the Mistral, and her drying, cooling fingers caress the grapes that are deep into ripening, having baked under the sun in temps of 30 degrees plus for most of the day. This cooling breeze slows the grapes, and buys a fraction more time in the race of physical ripeness vs. phenolic ripeness, a race that always works best for wine with a photo finish, no clear winner. If physical ripeness is reached too soon, then the grapes may need to be harvested before tannins have ripened too, the results being bitter, green or coarse tannins on the palate, canceling out the ripeness of fruit the grapes have worked so hard to achieve. It’s not all about ripe fruit and high alcohol, the grape is like an uncut diamond, its many facets needing to be cut and polished for it to really shine.

Some 8,000 miles away it is eleven am Pacific Standard Time and the docile vineyards of Carneros are shrouded in a deep fog fresh off the pacific. The fog, formed as moisture from the sea condenses in the cool westerly breezes, rolls into the Gulf of Farallones and is sucked into San Pablo Bay through the Petaluma gap and into Sonoma and Napa, channelled by the Sonoma mountains to the west and the Mayacamas to the east. Extending the ripening season and allowing for varietals such as Pinot noir and Chardonnay to thrive, the phenomenon of the fog  was a big factor in Carneros being the first AVA to be defined by climatic characteristics rather than political boundaries. With longer to ripen and at cooler temperatures, aromatics are nurtured and acid is retained, a factor in the quality of the Pinot coming out of areas such as Russian River Valley further up the coast.

Be great to stay and taste some wines, but we must continue eastwards. Bounding god like, Hawaii and New Zealand our stepping stones, we arrive in Australia’s Margaret River region. It’s 3am but a different hemisphere brings a different season and the vines lie dormant waiting for temperatures to rise. A breeze rolls off the Indian Ocean, its effects are minimal but as we move into summer it will become stronger and cooler. It is the Fremantle Doctor and will cause summer temperatures to drop by as much as 3 degrees, its effects reaching some hundred kilometres inland. Blowing from the south west, in deep summer it will fight it out with scorched easterlies from the arid interior of Australia. It’s a battle that must be won, the fruit driven Rieslings of Frankland River relying on their high balancing acid, and the structured complex Cabernet Sauvignons of Margaret River on their developed aromatics; cooler temperatures and longer hang times are an essential factor in this.

Diving off Australia’s south west corner, the chilly currents of the South Indian Ocean carry us past the Antarctic where we are grasped by the equally cool Benguela current, which pulls us north and deposits us flotsam-like on the Cape of South Africa. Longitudinally we are back where we began, but seasonally a million miles away from the warmth of the Rhone. The cooling current that has helped us on our journey cools the warm Mediterranean climate of the Cape to temperatures lower than would be expected for this latitude. This too is aided by the presence of a strong south easterly known as the Cape Doctor, which lowers temperatures and tempers humidity, reducing the risk of mildew and fungal grape diseases at the same time. The doctor’s benevolence is much lauded in these parts, but she doesn’t always administer the correct medication. With the massive fetch of the Indian Ocean behind her she can reach gale-force, damaging vines and disrupting fruit set and fertilisation. If the elements conspire and Mother Nature is feeling particularly cruel, accompanied by an extreme low, the result can be a black Sou-Easter bringing torrential rain to the Western Cape.

This is the thing with weather patterns, they aren’t always predictable. The sheer magnitude of variables means we are looking at mind boggling equations, and entering into the realms of chaotic complexity. In Australia a butterfly beats it’s wings and in Piedmont, two days later, hail flattens a vineyard. But this complexity is key to the regional diversity of wine, the liquid in your glass possibly the answer to the equation.

JJS

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